The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come
by Alkeni
Summary: When Wesley used the Mutari Generator on Illyria, he didn't expect to end up back in England...over a thousand years in the past. Can Camelot survive the presence of Illyria, God-King of the Primordium? Illyria/Wesley, Mergana. Season 2 of Merlin.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Angel the Series is owned by Joss Whedon. Merlin is owned by...I'm gonna say the BBC and leave it at that? Regardless, I don't own any of them.

I am a man who apparently doesn't know how to shut his inner muse up.

Thanks to deiticlast for beta-reading and being a sounding board as I wrote this chapter.

The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 1: Mutari Wormhole

_Training Room,_

_Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles_

_April 24__th__, 2004 C.E._

"You ask me to allow you to murder me." Illyria said imperiously, the impression of the all powerful God-King ruined somewhat by her distinctly...unhealthy appearance, the pained expression on her face..and the fact that she had been doubled over moments before. Still, she drew herself to her full – not very impressive, given the limitations of the shell she wore – height as she spoke.

"It's not murder if you say yes." Spike quipped, with his usual brand of not-helping sarcasm. Arrayed in the training room were the four remaining survivors of Angel Investigations, plus Spike, each armed with a weapon. Even Lorne had a crossbow. The weapon Wesley carried though...it was a strange contraption that appeared like it belonged more on the set of Star Wars or a similar movie than the premises of Wolfram and Hart.

"No one is murdering you." Wesley said softly, still holding the weapon. "This device won't kill you." The former watcher was long past the point that he had once been at. The compounded trauma of the last two years – and then throwing in the Orlon Window...

"What?" Angel interjected, confused. "But you said-"

"I lied." Wesley replied smoothy, unrepentant, voice flat and cold. He turned back to to the blue-haired demon. "Illyria, this device will draw the energy away from you safely. It will allow you to live."

Illyria narrowed her eyes at him, one hand clutching her stomach. "Your intent is not murder." she sounded skeptical...her tone...surprisingly human.

Wesley didn't lower his device, but he did step closer to her. "It never was."

"Well!" Lorne held up one hand, forcing cheeriness into his tone, "No harm, no foul, right?"

"But you tried to destroy me to bring back Fred." Illyria said, ignoring the empath demon.

"I did." Wesley admitted. "But it didn't work. It was a failure. Fred is gone. I understand that now. You are all that's left of Fred."

"You want to take my power...to let me live?" Wesley nodded. "But I am my power. And I would rather be a titanic crater than be like unto you." With a speed that only Illyria could possess, she kicked Wesley in the stomach. One hand flew off the weapon, and he flew back across the room. Spike ran up to her, his foot flying up to kick her in the face.

"I kill you." Illyria told the vampire. "That's how this ends." She charged at Spike, but he managed to grab her, flinging her at the wall, away from him.

"What? Getting ahead of ourselves a bit! This fight hasn't even started!" He charged at the demon-god, but Illyria slowed time. Standing tall, she walked towards the door...another spasm of energy crashed through her and she doubled over again, hands clutching at her stomach. The flow of of time returned to normal. Spike hit the wall, but got back up in seconds, still ready to go.

Angel didn't move towards her. "Illyria, the future can change here. You can choose a different path."

Illyria sneered. "And be _nothing._"

"And be what you are." Angel corrected as Illyria groaned again. "Fighting to hold onto what you were, though...it's destroying you."

Illyria faced Wes, even as he leveled the device at her again. "You would do this to me?"

"I'd try, anyway." Wesley replied. "Every time."

Fighting past another gasp, Illyria spoke, "I possess so much grace, more grace than this bag of sticks could express. I was the immaculate embodiment of rule." A glowing blue fracture appeared in Illyria's cheek, then more cracks appeared, blue light shooting out everywhere from deep within her collapsing form. She glared at Wesley. "I blame this on the weakness of your species."

"Fair enough." Wesley acknowledged. He pulled the trigger on the device. A beam of white light flew out, hitting Illyria in her stomach. Just as it was supposed to. He saw the cracks in Illyria's form start to close, the immense power of the God-King of the Primordium flowing from her body into the pocket dimension created by the Mutari Generator.

And then...

It all happened too fast for Wesley to process it. The energy was flowing in...and then...he felt himself flying backwards, white light exploding outwards in a bursting sphere, forming a rippling pattern in the air. Wesley felt pain in his hand, and looked down to see blood flowing out of open cuts...and he held only a part of the generator, the front half of the device gone. This was not something he had anticipated. Not at all.

Struggling to his feet, Wesley looked for Illyria, trying to find her...there was no sign of her for a moment...then...out of the corner of his eye. He saw her, he turned, moving towards her. The cracks were gone...she seemed heeled..and yet.. no... she was still clutching her stomach, yet another crack forming there, opening wider.

"NO!" Wesley felt the world fall away from his vision...Illyria got to her feet staggering. One hand reached out in front of her, as if she was feeling her way blindly. He reached her, grabbing her shoulder even as she touched the ripping white light, her lost energy...the pocket dimension to which he'd sent it too...it called out to her, he realized...it was as much part of her as the shell was now. With it in reach...she could no more resist it than a moth could a flame.

As Illyria's hand touched the light, it happened.

The images flashed across Wesley's vision as the training room fell away, as Spike, Angel and Lorne vanished from view...a sea of boiling lava...demons...horrors unimagined by the greatest scholars of the Old Ones, heaving themselves out of the birthing pits of the earth...Illyira in her true form, that he'd seen in the books...an army of demons, millions strong, chanting her name in Primordial Sanskrit...over and over again...wars...glorious conquest as her armies marched across the world, Pangea falling to her domination...the betrayal of Illyria, her defeat...her sealing away in the deeper well, even as the other Old Ones battled and bickered over the shards of her empire. He watched history move forward, faster and faster...primitive primates were soon rising in the jungles, and then man, spreading across the earth, like the cancerous diseases Illyria had so often compared them...creation of the first Slayer...the Pyramids...the Akkadians, Great Babylon, the early Chinese, Assyria, Persia...the Golden Age of Greece...legions marching across the Mediterranean, bringing it all under the control of room. In a heartbeat he saw Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus declared Augustus...Commodus ordering dozens of deaths over dinner...the bloody purges of Septimius Severus...Theodosius I ordering the altar of victory removed from Rome...the final sack of Rome...and then...

_Blackness..._

_Unknown Place_

_Unknown Time_

Wesley Wyndamn-Pryce knew not how long he was out of consciousness...the first sensation was...something...digging into his back...blinding pain in his head...to use a well worn cliché, like it has been split in two..._no, make that three or four, actually_, he reconsidered...slowly, agonizingly so, he opened his eyes. And then closed them again, as the rays of light slipped in through the gaps in the trees, nearly blinding him.

_Wait...trees?_ Wesley forced himself to sit up, hands on... a tree root, the dirt floor of the forest. Which is what had been digging into his back. He opened his eyes all the way, then rose to his feet, squinting, shading his eyes with with one hand. The forest's trees were old and thick, with wide roots that went deep into the ground, no doubt. This was was a forest that mankind had not subjected to its total ravaging, in industry and logging and mining and hunting. He couldn't see any animals, but he could hear a few in the distance.

He felt thirsty, he realized. Very thirsty. Parched, really. And...his stomach rumbled just a little. _Hungry as well...how long was I out...?_

Wesley looked at the hand that had been injured by the explosion of the Mutari Generator...bandaged...with strips torn from his sleeves, he realized. He looked around...wherever he was, obviously someone else was nearby, and had had the inclination to bind his injury.

He saw Illyria standing next to a tree, one of thickest he'd seen in a long time, actually. It soared up into the sky, its upper branches spreading to cover quite a lot of space. Illyria appeared to be looking at it intently, one hand on its bark. Wesley approached her slowly...she didn't seem to be in the state she been before. No sign of the fractures in her form. He reached out a hand.

Without turning to face him, Illyria interrupted him. "Touch me and die, vermin."

_I guess not that much has changed after all_...but he knew those thoughts weren't fair. Illyria had always been a being of supreme power and with that, supreme confidence. But now...she wasn't what she had been. And she was likely confused, lost, unsure of herself and her place in the world.

"Very well." Wesley withdrew his hand.

Illyria didn't acknowledge his words. She moved her hand up the tree a moment. "I can no longer hear the song of the green." She sounded...disappointed...perhaps, upset, or even forlorn, about that fact. Wesley bit back a comment. Regardless, she spoke again, "I don't want your pity."

"You never had it, Illyria." Wesley replied truthfully. "What happened?"

"Your device was poorly constructed." Illyria said. "It interacted with my power, opening a rift in the currents of time."

"We traveled through time?" Wesley never read much science-fiction literature, but he immediately looked to make sure he hadn't stepped on any bugs. "Should I be worried I'll change my own future and prevent myself from existing? Or accidentally prevent the evolution of the human race?"

"By traveling back through time, we have created a new universe. You may prevent a future you being birthed, but it will not affect your existence now. And we have not traveled back far enough to prevent your kind from rising up from the muck to rule this world."

"How far back have we gone? And how can you tell?"

"My senses are far superior to yours. We have gone back nearly fourteen hundred circuits of this world around its sun. You have remained unconscious for two days." She turned back to face him. "I am not what I once was...my power is but a pale shadow of what I once had. But I am still Illyria, God-King of the Primordium. I am still far more powerful than any of your pathetic species...but I cannot rebuild my empire on my own. You are my Qwa'ha Xahn. My guide. You will serve that role for me here, now, in this place."

"You seek to rebuild your empire? Here, over a thousand years before your return?"

"I seek to rebuild what I can of it. I am meant for rule. If I cannot rule my empire as I once did, I will rule your kind instead. I have had much time to consider my new situation, my new circumstances."

"Much time? You've had forty-eight hours. You've come to terms with your loss of power, and determined on a new plan in such a span of time?"

"I think far faster than you, Qwa'ha Xahn." Illyria said, as if that was enough explanation. She was perhaps even more terse than normal. And she was leaving out most of the insults. By now...at any other time, she'd have gotten far into the 'muck beneath my feet' speech. It was...almost strange, in a way, to see her...humbled was not the word, but rather, she was less...less overtly arrogant. Or perhaps, less secure in her innate superiority - she even admitted it: she could not rebuild her empire on her own.

"I find myself uninterested in helping you enslave humanity to your whim." Wesley commented dryly.

"Regardless, you will help me. You will stay with me, and serve as my guide."

Wesley knew she was right. He could no more abandon her now than he could have had they remained in Los Angeles in their own time. "Correct."

"Then it need not matter. My conquest of your kind will occur long after your death, regardless." She turned away from him again. "You are familiar with the history of your kind?"

"Very." Wesley acknowledged. As he spoke, he checked to see if he still had his weapons. His collapsible sword was long gone, but he still had one pistol, and several daggers, most of them enchanted, taken from Wolfram and Hart's vaults. He opened the pistol, checking his clip. Ten bullets, and the one in the chamber. Irreplaceable now. He'd have to use them sparingly.

"You will determine where on this world we are, and determine the great centers of power, such as they might be, in this area."

Wesley nodded. "I expect a promise from you in return."

"You see to extract a ransom from me?"

"If you want my help, yes." Wesley replied. "Restrain your instinct to violence. And consider, if you kill all those that provoke you in ways that merited death once, long before, you will have no Kingdom to rule. Humans are fractious, disobedient creatures."

"Your works speak as ashes. You do not believe them."

"No. But the truth of them to your goals remains evident, correct?"

Illyria said nothing in reply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own it.

Thanks to deiticlast, for being my beta-reader.

The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 2: The Lady Illyria

"Remind me again, Arthur, why I have to come with you while you hunt? I mean, we've already established that I scare away all the game and -" Merlin demanded of the blonde-haired nobleman as he followed him along forest floor. He stepped over a the half-rotted remnants of a long-fallen tree as he spoke.

"You're coming because I'm the Prince and I told you to." Arthur replied, interrupting his servant.

"Actually, I think it's because you're a clot-pole." Merlin replied, smirking.

"That's not a word, Merlin." Arthur said – not for the first time – as a sigh escaped his lips.

"Yes it is." Merlin countered.

"What does it mean, then?" Arthur didn't know why he subjected himself to this again. They went through it every time Merlin invented words to use as insults directed at him.

"It means 'Prince Arthur'." Merlin answered, still smirking, then suddenly, he pulled up short. For a moment, a split second, he felt...power, wash over him. Magical power. And lots of it. Someone, or something with more power than he'd ever felt was nearby. Then, just as suddenly, it passed, as if it was more an event, than a presence...it threw him off completely, though. He was just standing there, still, when Arthur turned around.

Seeing Merlin just standing there, Arthur half-shouted. "Merlin! Quit fooling around and come on!"

"I thought I heard something." Merlin lied.

Arthur shook his head. "You're a terrible liar, Merlin." The young warlock couldn't help but laugh inside at those words. _If I was a terrible liar, I'd have been killed by your crazy father months ago, and you'd have died at least three or four times by now._ "There's nothing to hear, because unfortunately, you really do scare-" His voice trailed off when he heard two distinct voices nearby, just ahead of them in the forest. Silently, he motioned to Merlin to stay where he was, then, drawing his sword, slowly moved forward. Without stepping from behind the cover of the trees, he looked into the clearing just ahead./

The two people standing there wore perhaps the strangest clothes that he had ever seen. Well, the man's clothes, while strange, looked mostly normal. The brown coat that he wore was of a style and appearance he'd never seen, but it was recognizably a coat, of some kind. The man was tall and thin, but he carried himself with the confidence and the prepared wariness of an accomplished warrior. It was strange, though, given that he saw no weapons on the man, nor any armor.

The woman also bore no weapon, but the clothing she wore appeared to be some kind of armor. But while the best term he could give it was armor, the red, overlapping pieces appeared almost as the kind of thing one might find on an insect, rather than as a suit of armor. He couldn't imagine how the woman put it on. Or took it off for that matter. Arthur shook his head as that thought entered his mind, driving it out.

But the most noteworthy thing about the two strangers, even more so than the fact that he couldn't understand whatever it was the two of them were saying, was that the woman's hair was blue. Arthur had seen many people in Camelot and out of it, but never before had he seen anyone with blue hair.

"State your business!" Arthur said in a loud clear voice as he stepped into view. He held his sword in front of himself in a defensive, but not overly threatening manner.

The Prince of Camelot knew an aggressive move when he saw one. The woman raised one hand in a clenched fist, striding towards him. Before she got three steps in his direction, however, the man placed a hand on her arm and spoke something in what Arthur could only assume was another language. Then he turned to Arthur.

"You must forgive the Lady Illyria. She does not take to demands well. She may not speak your tongue, but she knows a demand when she hears one." He turned to the woman and murmured something to her. Then he approached Arthur.

"That's close enough. I said, 'State. Your. Business'."

The man drew up short. "And who might you be exactly to order us about like that?"

"I am Prince Arthur Pendragon, of Camelot. This forest is my father's land, in his kingdom." He watched with curious interest as the man seemed to be taken aback at his identity. Almost spluttering a moment, the man took a moment to speak coherently.

"I'm sorry. Did you say _Prince_ Arthur of _Camelot_?!"

"I did. Why does that seem to surprise you?"

"I...I did not realize that we had come so far as to be in the territory of Camelot." The man replied. "We are...ah... a little lost, clearly."

"Who are you?" Arthur asked. He lowered his sword, but did not sheath it.

"Forgive me, your highness," Wesley replied, bowing just a little. "I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, scholar and the guide of the Lady Illyria, of Los Angeles. And her translator."

"Los Angeles? I have never heard of that Kingdom."

"I am not surprised. It is far away, to the south."

"What brings you to Camelot?"

"Nothing brings us to Camelot specifically, but the Lady Illyria simply wished to travel, to see the world far from her home. Unfortunately, our party was set upon by bandits, the rest of the Lady's retainers other than myself killed and all our supplies taken, several days ago. We've been wandering since."

"Neither of you carry a weapon." Arthur noted. "Were all your guards killed in the attack?"

"I do actually carry a weapon." Wesley replied. "If you will allow me to demonstrate." He flicked his wrist and a sword slid out of his sleeve, and within two seconds, he was armed. He saw the look of surprise on Arthur's face. "It is not magic, your highness, merely science. The scientists of Los Angeles are quite skilled." He let the sword re-enter the wrist device, and if vanished back into his wrist.

"Interesting." He nodded to the blue-haired woman. "Am a correct in assuming that your Lady Illyria is capable of fighting?"

"She is. Quite well, in fact." Wesley replied.

"I would like to ask her a few questions."

"I can translate them for you." Wesley replied. "But I do warn you, Illyria can be impatient. She does not like to be kept waiting, and she has little stomach for extended questioning. She can be..." He paused. "Difficult." The self-described guide turned to Illyria and spoke to her. The noblewoman approached Wesley and they spoke for a minute, then Wesley turned back to Arthur. "Ask your questions."

"Why did you choose to travel so far from your lands that no one here would have heard where you come from?" Arthur watched as Wesley translated, then as Illyria spoke.

"Because I wished to explore distant lands." Wesley replied after a moment.

"The expense and risk of such a journey purely to settle your curiosity?"

Through Wesley: "I am more than capable of taking care of myself-" Illyria added something else in what sounded like yet another language to the one they had been speaking earlier. Wesley didn't translate that.

"What did she say?" Arthur demanded of the scholar.

"It would be...undiplomatic for me to translate Illyria's words. Needless to say, she does not find this interrogation amusing." Illyria said something more. "However, she would like you to get to the point."

Arthur scowled. "You are trespassing on the lands of my Father, the King. If I were to order you to surrender your weapons and -"

Illyria cut him off. "Were you to try anything of the sort, young Prince, I would leave you tied to that tree," she pointed to the tree in question, "with your arms and legs broken."

Arthur raised his sword at the threat. "So you can speak the same language as I do."

"Yes. She can." Wesley agreed. "But as you can see, diplomacy is not exactly Illyria's strong suit, but she does get to the nub of the problem. We're not going to surrender our weapons. We will leave your Kingdom of you insist, but I cannot believe your noble father would turn away a noblewoman in need, however...blunt, and violent she can be in her tone." Then he spoke to Illyria in their language again.

"I don't tend to trust people who level threats like that against me."

"And I do not like people who consider themselves superior to me, when they most definitely are not, young Prince." Illyria replied. "If you give me no cause, I will do you no harm. I am no enemy to you."

"Look, you highness, it has been several days since either of us have had a decent nights sleep, or a meaningful meal." Wesley said. "We are at our wits end. I have to ask you, to please lead us to Camelot and let us speak with your father."

Arthur knew that his father would want to meet such strangers, assess them for himself. "Aright." He lowered, then sheathed his sword.

**Next Time, on Ruins of My Kingdom to Come:**_ What exactly were Wesley and Illyria thinking during this exchange? And how will they react to King Uther? Find out, coming soon to a computer near you. Well...eventually. Soon may be an overstatement. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin or Angel the Series. All rights reserved to the actual owners.

**Author's Note: **Yes, I realize (now) that in chapter 1 I say that Wesley doesn't have his collapsible sword, and in chapter 2 I have him use it. Call it what it is – brain fart on the part of the author. We're going to go with the chapter 2 version going forward. So yes, Wes has his collapsible sword with him.

Thanks to deiticlast, for beta-reading.

The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 3: A Charade of Humanity

"How can you not determine where on this world we are?" Illyria demanded of him as they stopped their trek through the forest. As Illyria continued to berate him, Wesley took a moment to give the clearing they were stopping in a quick once over. As per usual, there were no signs of civilization. "We have been walking through this forest for two days." _Yes. Two days through a generic forest. The Earth had quite a lot of them fourteen hundred years ago, in case you didn't notice, Illyria._ Not that she likely had noticed, he admitted.

The two days they had spent wandering through the forest had been far from enjoyable. They had come across a few streams and Wesley was at least able to quench his thirst at them. He tried not to think about how unhealthy the water was likely to be. And last night he'd killed a rabbit and cooked it, so his hunger was at least a little dealt with, but he would be quite grateful when they finally reached some form of civilization. Wesley was not one for spending excessive amounts of time in wilderness.

"I have not been able to determine our location because I've yet to see any landmarks or historical anchors I could use to extrapolate our location. Were we to see the Great Pyramids or something like that, I could tell you we were at Giza, for example."

"Pitiful monuments to pitiful kings." Illyria said, softly. "Vahla ha'nesh was far grander than they could ever be."

"Perhaps." Wesley didn't concede the point. But he wasn't in the mood to argue with her either, regarding the legacy of human history. One didn't argue with Illyria and expect to win the argument. "From the climate, the flora and the fauna, I can surmise that our most likely location is somewhere in northern Europe. But I can't be sure, nor can I be more exact than that. I am not a meteorologist, botanist or a zoologist." He sighed. "Our best bet is to keep wandering until we encounter someone living and then we can find out from whatever language they speak where we are."

"You will be able to understand them then?" Illyria asked, raising an eyebrow in an astonishingly human-like movement. "Or will you need me to translate for you? The number and nature of the languages you speak is unknown to me."

"And you would automatically necessarily know whatever language it is that we end up encountering?" Wesley asked, raising his own eyebrow in response. "As I recall, Fred only knew, apart from English, Latin and Pylean. Adding in the various demonic languages you would know, yes, but I fail to see how you feel you can be guaranteed to be able to communicate with whatever humans we do encounter."

"Do not mistake the human form of this shell, or the fact of my recent weakness as evidence of thinking like a human, or being possessed of a mind that operates like that of a human." Illyria said, a hint of sternness in her tone.

"I never have." Wesley replied truthfully.

"So you believe. But by assuming that a mere human language could prove any difficulty for me, you in fact did. Given a few minutes of listening, I can understand and speak quite clearly any language spoken by your kind."

"That is…interesting." Indeed it was. Wesley filed it away in his mind, for later. Even in their current situation, Wesley never stopped being who and what he was. Learning more about Illyria remained one of his primary focuses, and this bit of information simply enhanced his larger understanding. Finally, Wesley decided to answer the question she had asked him. "I speak a number of languages, as you know full well. And among them are effectively any languages we are likely to encounter if we are indeed in northern Europe as I suspect." He turned to look at her. Illyria still wore her characteristic armor – not that he'd ever seen her wearing anything else – and her hair remained blue, her skin still possessed of the patches of blue here and there.

"Is there any way you can change your appearance to look…more human?" Wesley held up a hand to interrupt her and elaborated. "Yes, your form is human, but humans don't tend to have eyes so…crystalline as yours, nor do they have patches of blue coloration as you do. At the very least, it's going to attract the wrong kind of attention. And in this day and age, assuming something strange looking isn't human is not that much of a leap."

Without a word, Illyria's appearance changed. Suddenly, she didn't look like Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, possessing Fred…she looked like Fred…down to the clothing. The exact clothing Fred had worn… "Does this serve adequately with your intent, then, Wesley?"

It was…incongruous to hear the harsh, inhuman tone of Illyria coming from what was so obviously Fred…but seeing her again…seeing Fred again…but knowing the truth. Knowing that it wasn't Fred… it felt like a blow to the stomach, and it was all he could to not actually double over in pain…it wrenched at his heart. "No." Wesley replied harshly. "Return to your normal appearance." He said it like an order, and Illyria changed back. "Never do that again."

"Do not seek to order me, Qwa'ha Xahn. I am not yours to command." Illyria's tone was more imperious – which was saying something – than it had been recently.

"If you want me to remain as your Qwa'ha Xahn, you will never wear the form of Fred again." Wesley replied, his tone as harsh as it had been moments before. "Is there no way you can appear less so obviously not human…without appearing as Fred?" He forced himself back on topic, but the pain was still throbbing within him.

"I am Illyria, God-King of the Primordium." She replied. "I will not disguise who I am –"

"You will if you expect to get anywhere. Your name may be largely unknown, but there are those who will realize who and what you are, and you are in no position to deal with the powers of this era." Then he paused, and considered. "Speaking of, you may want to, when you eventually get the opportunity, see to it that the Slayer's Scythe is hidden somewhere else, since it would remain the most efficient way of killing you." Wesley hadn't seen it, but he'd heard Angel and Spike describe the weapon and its apparent effectiveness. He'd done some research using the Wolfram and Hart source templates, out of curiosity. The research had been…enlightening, to say the least.

"If you pretend to be human, you will be able to situate yourself more effectively to begin building your Kingdom once more." He paused, then sighed. "You made me your Qwa'ha Xahn, your guide because you did not know this world, and you wanted, needed to understand it." Illyria seemed about to open her mouth to speak, so Wesley paused to let her, but when she said nothing, he continued. "I am serving as your guide now. Please believe me, allowing others to believe you human will serve your interests best for the time being."

Illyria cocked her head to the right slightly, considering his words, then after a moment, nodded. "I will take your advice into consideration, for now. But I suggest you be more sparing with your advice for some time."

"I will do my best." Wesley replied. "Is there, then, any way you can appear as more human…in ways that are…less…" His voice trailed off.

"The grief coming off you leaves an unpleasant stench. I suggest you overcome it soon." Illyria replied, coolly. She closed her eyes a moment, then re-opened them. They were still a distinct and memorable shade of icy-blue, but they lacked the crystalline, inhuman appearance they had had before. Illyria's skin rippled a moment, and the patches of blue on her face and hands vanished. Her hair remained blue, but Wesley had no protest on that. Hair color was easily explainable in any number of ways. He nodded.

"Thank you." He said softly.

"Spare me your gratitude." Illyria replied.

Wesley was about to reply when he heard a loud voice from the left. "State your business!" Wesley turned to see a tall, blonde-haired young man with a sword leveled at them. From his stance alone, Wesley could surmise he was a noble of some kind. Perhaps a knight, judging from his weapon and armor. It took Wesley a moment to realize that the man was speaking in Old English.

Illyria's response to the barked order was to clench her hands into fists and move towards him. Moving quickly, Wesley placed one hand gently on her arm. "Illyria, killing the first human we meet – and likely a man of some authority – is going to get us nowhere." Before she could respond, he turned to the blonde man and spoke. "You must forgive the Lady Illyria. She does not take to demands well. She may not speak your tongue, but she knows a demand when she hears one." And that was true. Even by her own admission, she didn't yet understand the language being spoken. Wesley slowly approached the man, mentally going over his plan for an eventuality like this – he'd had a different plan had they encountered a peasant or someone quite obviously of the lower class first.

"That's close enough." The man said, moving his sword just a little to emphasize his point. "I said, 'State. Your. Business'."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. The man was quite used to being obeyed by just about everyone. If he was a knight, then he was an unusually arrogant one – which would hardly be that surprising, if one were to be honest. "And who might you be, exactly, to order us about like that?"

"I am Prince Arthur Pendragon, of Camelot. This forest is my father's land, in his kingdom." The man replied.

Wesley nearly staggered back a pace and it took a moment before he had full control of his voice again. "I'm sorry. Did you say _Prince_ Arthur of _Camelot_?!" He tried to wrap his brain around that for a moment as the man spoke.

"I did." The man – Prince Arthur – confirmed. "Why does that seem to surprise you?"

The common historical and cultural opinion, in the modern world, was that King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and Camelot were largely, if not entirely, pure myth. Some of the more generous granted there might be certain hints of truth in regards to some small aspects of it, but only a few bits of truth.

The Watchers Council knew better. The records they possessed made it quite clear that Arthur, his round table and Camelot had indeed existed. A slayer had even been based out of Camelot for a few years in the latter part of Arthur's reign. However, very little was known of Uther's reign as king, and even less about the first few years of Arthur's kingship.

The ban on magic, on the other hand… that relic of Uther's reign and the early years of Arthur's rule was a known quantity.

_This will make my life so much fun._ He thought sarcastically. Then, taking a quick breath, he supplied an answer to the Prince. "I…I did not realize that we had come so far as to be in the territory of Camelot." The lie – well, truthful lie – rolled off his tongue easily. He _hadn't _realized that they had come into the territory of Camelot, but the implied context of the statement was as false as the prophecy he'd read that had gotten them into this mess, the root cause, as it were. Arguably the root cause, anyway.

He forced that train of thought out of his mind. For the time being, at least, he couldn't afford to think about it.

Wesley watched as Arthur lowered his sword, _Speaking of, where is Merlin anyway? _The Wizard Merlin's early biography was even more vague than the record of the early reign of Arthur. So he might not even be in Camelot at this point – and he would have to be hiding his magic if he was in Camelot.

"Who are you?" The princes asked.

Wesley bowed. Just enough to be just a little bit respectful, but not all _that_ much, compared to the usual bows reserved for a man of Arthur's position. "Forgive me, your highness. I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, scholar and guide of the Lady Illyria, of Los Angeles. And her translator."

"Los Angeles? I have never heard of that kingdom."

_Of course not. We're over eight hundred years before the Spanish even reach the new world._ Still, "I am not surprised. It is far away, to the south."

"What brings you to Camelot?"

"Nothing brings us to Camelot specifically, but the Lady Illyria simply wished to travel, to see the world far from her home. Unfortunately, our party was set upon by bandits, the rest of the Lady's retainers other than myself killed and all our supplies taken, several days ago. We've been wandering since."

"Neither of you carry a weapon." Arthur noted. "Were all your guards killed in the attack?"

_Definitely not the pistol. Far too flashy. Can't afford to waste the bullets either. _"I do actually carry a weapon. If you will allow me to demonstrate." He flicked his wrist and let the collapsible sword slide out of the wrist device. The look of surprise on Arthur's face spoke volumes. _He thinks…or is at least considering the possibility that it is magic. Best to nip that in the bud fairly quickly_ "It is not magic, your highness, merely science. The scientists of Los Angeles are quite skilled." He flicked his wrist again and the sword re-entered the device, vanishing into his sleeve.

After a moment's further silence, Arthur spoke. "Interesting." Then he shifted his gaze to Illyria. "Am I correct in assuming that your Lady Illyria is capable of fighting?"

_Correct would be one word for it._ And…Illyria was finally at the point where she could understand what they were speaking. Wesley pre-empted her before she could speak.

"She is. Quite well, in fact."

"I would like to ask her a few questions."

"I can translate them for you." Wesley replied. "But I do warn you, Illyria can be impatient. She does not like to be kept waiting, and she has little stomach for extended questioning. She can be..." He paused. "Difficult." He turned to Illyria and spoke in modern English. "Can you play along?"

"What is the purpose of this charade of translation, now that I can speak the requisite tongue to communicate with this human?" Illyria replied in the same language as she walked closer to him. They were perhaps a foot apart as they spoke fairly quietly.

"Because while you have many strong suits, diplomacy is not one of them. I don't want to needlessly antagonize him with you threatening to rip off his arms and beat him to death with them, or something like that." Wesley bit his tongue before he said anything more on the subject.

"Continue the charade for now." Illyria said after a moment. Wesley could almost see the wheels in her head turning, though she'd be offended at the very idea of that fact. _She is more human in the way she thinks than she would care to admit, even to herself. I suspect that Fred left her more than just memories, or all three of us would likely have been killed before she went through the portal to __Vahla ha'nesh, for having the temerity to even consider attacking her._

"Ask your questions." Wesley told Arthur.

"Why did you choose to travel so far from your lands that no one here would have heard where you came from?" For appearances sake, Wesley 'translated' it for Illyria.

"Because my Qwa'ha Xahn made his device incorrectly and forced us through the currents of time." Wesley could almost hear sarcasm in her voice. Well, no, he couldn't, but were the words coming from anyone else, he could have heard sarcasm…

After a moment, Wesley settled on a more suitable answer. "Because I wished to explore distant lands."

"The expense and risk of such a journey purely to settle your curiosity?"

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself." Illyria replied. "Tell that," The next word had to be in Primordial Sanskrit…if it was what he thought it was, it had no real analogue in any human language. Wesley translated the first part, but not the insult.

Clearly though, Arthur guessed something was missing. "What did she say?" The Prince demanded.

"It would be…undiplomatic for me to translate Illyria's words." _If I could even find the right words to use…_ "Needless to say, she does not find this interrogation," _Or this entire charade, _"amusing."

"Tell him to get to the point."

"However, she would like you to get to the point."

Wesley smirked as he saw Arthur scowl. "You are trespassing on the lands of my Father, the King. If I were to order you to surrender your weapons and –"

Before Wesley could stop her, Illyria cut in. "Were you to try anything of the sort, young Prince, I would leave you tied to that tree," she pointed to a tree at random, "with your arms and legs broken."

Arthur raised his sword at her words and spoke, "So you can speak the same language as I do."

It was all Wesley could to prevent himself from facepalming. He cut in before Illyria could make things worse. "Yes. She can. But as you can see, diplomacy is not exactly Illyria's strong suit, but she does get to the nub of the problem. We're not going to surrender our weapons. We will leave your Kingdom if you insist, but I cannot believe your noble father would turn away a noblewoman in need, however…blunt, and violent she can be in her tone. Then he turned to Illyria and spoke in English. "Illyria, keep your-" She glared at him dangerously, and Wesley stopped talking.

"I don't tend to trust people who level threats like that against me." _Trust the people who make the threats more than the people who appear to be your friends. You can certainly trust Illyria to be as violent as she proposes, always._

"And I do not like people who consider themselves superior to me, when they most definitely are not, young Prince." Illyria replied to Arthur. "If you give me no cause, I will do you no harm. I am no enemy to you."

"Look, your highness, it has been several days since either of us have had a decent night's sleep, or a meaningful meal. We are at our wits end." _I'm starting to get there, anyway_. "I have to ask you to please lead us to Camelot and let us speak with your father."

Wesley watched Arthur, hoping it had worked. Finally, he lowered, then sheathed his sword. "Alright."

**Next Time, on Ruins of My Kingdom to Come:** _Wesley and Illyria reach Camelot, and Wesley finds that the King is a surprisingly familiar face._ _A brief conversation with the two strangers sets Merlin on edge, and Morgana's nightmares take a strange turn._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin or Angel the Series

**Author's Note:** In the show, the only time they ever refer to religion is when they talk about the 'old religion', which Uther got rid of when he banned magic. Given when the story is set, I've decided to take some liberties with the show and say that Christianity is what they follow in Camelot right now, because I find it hard to believe that they'd all be a bunch of nonreligious people, or atheists.

Thanks to my beta, deitclast

The Ruins of My Kingdom To Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 4: Camelot

"The shell has memories of this 'Camelot' and an associated King, named Arthur." Illyria said as they left the forest. They had been surprisingly close to edge of the forest, when Prince Arthur had stumbled upon them. "But she imagined them to be little more than legends, with perhaps a small bit of truth, but not so much as things seem to show now."

"Camelot, Arthur, and the whole lot are indeed part of a cycle of legends and myths about post-Roman Britain, during the so-called 'Dark Ages'. However, there is a lot more truth to the legends than most people understand. Unfortunately, I'm only familiar with a few details about this stage of Arthur's life. His latter reign is far better documented and understood."

"The boy, his servant. Merlin. That name is given to the old wizard in all the stories. Is that part false?"

"Not in the least. Merlin was never older than Arthur, but he was indeed a powerful wizard." Arthur was in earshot, but fortunately for the aforementioned servant, they were speaking modern English, rather than anything the Prince could understand.

"Then why does he lower himself as servant to this one?" She gestured to Arthur. "I can smell his magic."

"The edict banning magic laid down by King Uther no doubt is part of the reason." Wesley replied. "Beyond that, I don't know. By the time the historical record possesses some clarity and depth in terms of the details, Merlin is the official Court Sorcerer to Arthur, and the ban on magic was no longer in force."

"This edict. The punishment for a violation is death?" Wesley nodded. "A petty fool trying to control and destroy what he does not understand." Illyria pronounced her judgment on Uther, without even meeting him. Completely unsurprising. Frankly, however, Wesley had to agree with her assessment of the man.

"Be that as it may, we cannot afford to antagonize him at this time. At least not for a while. So perhaps keep your comments to yourself?"

Illyria was at him in an instant, hand on his collar. "I warned you about giving advice, Qwa'ha Xahn." She let go of him a moment later, then resumed following Arthur.

Wesley looked away from her as he too followed the Prince. They made their way to Camelot, a journey of at least an hour, in silence.

AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Me rlin-AtS-Merlin

Gasping, Morgana started awake, eyes snapping open. Fear overran the young noblewoman for a moment, pulsating through her, before she realized where she was. She forced herself to take deep breaths, eyes darting around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings that were her chambers.

She'd been sitting there, in her chambers, reading...she hadn't even realized she'd drifted off, into sleep until...

The nightmare...she remembered it all too vividly, just like all the others. It had been less...less clear, than some... scattered flashes, bits and pieces of larger events. A woman in...strange, red armor, blue hair...another woman, long blonde hair, a cruel look in her eyes...

And the magic. Both of them were using it, fighting eachother...

Morgana shook her head violently. She stood up and walked over to her window, raising the curtain to look out into the courtyard, trying to avoid thinking about the nightmare. That's all it was. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

She saw Arthur and Merlin enter the courtyard...

She let the curtain fall as she staggered back, only staying on her feet by managing to grab onto her bedpost at the last minute.

Because Arthur and Merlin weren't the only ones to enter the courtyard. Two more people had followed them.

And one of them was the same blue-haired woman she'd just seen in her nightmare.

It was happening again..._no...please, God, no..._

AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Me rlin-AtS-Merlin

Wesley wrinkled his nose a moment as they neared Camelot. Mentally, he chastised himself for not thinking that this would happen when they got there to the city. Indoor plumbing was of course practically unheard of for most people in this time and place, and that only led to one of the many stenches that permeated the city, wafting towards him.

The former watcher had smelled worse things – more than one species of demon made the smell he was smelling now seem like fragrant roses by comparison, but since working at Wolfram and Hart, there hadn't been as many instances of that.

Plus, the source of the smell hadn't been as large as an entire city. He looked at Merlin and Arthur. Unsurprisingly, neither of them seemed to react to the smell. _No doubt well used to it_. He was, however, surprised to see no reaction from Illyria. Wesley looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"The smell of this city is hardly worse than what I smelled in Wolfram and Hart, and Los Angeles."Illyria answered, as if reading his thoughts.

"I find that hard to believe, Illyria." Wesley replied.

"Your senses, all of them, are not as mine. All humans possess an unpleasant smell. The difference between this city and Los Angeles, then, is minimal, for my senses."

They reached the Gate, and Wesley watched as the guards stepped aside for Arthur, and consequently, for them. Illyria looked around the city as they entered what was obviously the Lower Town. Wesley followed their guide, watching his step carefully.

"Pitiful. And this one's father calls himself a King of _this _?" Her expression turned into a very human-like sneer. "This is nothing."

"The domain that Uther rules is more than just this city, Illyria." Wesley pointed out.

"Irrelevant. If this is his capital...my army could have taken this in a matter of hours."

"Your army was demons. The most Uther is likely to face is an army from one of the neighboring kingdoms. From that perspective, these walls are quite impressive." He gestured. "And the walls around the castle even more so. This is just the lower town."

"The castle is only marginally better."

"Of course you would think that." Wesley pointed out.

Illyria didn't respond, and when she spoke again a minute later, she had changed the topic completely. "When we reach this King Uther, and stand before him, I shall allow you to speak for me. Such an audience is beneath by dignity, clearly." She looked with disdain at her surroundings.

"Yet you spoke to Arthur directly."

"The young Prince possess a surprising amount of merit. He is, in his own right, a Champion, like the half-breed Angel. It is less objectionable to speak with one of such standing."

"He is a Champion of the Powers that Be?" Now that was a surprise.

"Not necessarily a Champion of those beings in particular, but he is a Champion none the less. The approval or support of the ephemeral beings you refer to as the Powers is generally useless, as your own experiences would seem to support."

"The Powers that Be were not useless..." He paused a moment. "Not entirely, until the whole mess with the Beast and Jasmine, anyway..."

"So they were only useful except when they were most needed. My point stands." Illyria replied cooly.

Wesley looked away from her, refusing to concede her point. At least not where she could hear him. Too much of him had to agree with her, and that bothered him.

"Your silence speaks volumes, Wesley." Illyria said cooly.

"I see you've mastered the clever turn of phase. It doesn't make you correct. But arguing with a being of your ego would be like trying to run away while standing at the event horizon of a black hole. Futile, to say the least."

"The size and power of my ego, as you call it, is commensurate to my ability and merit. If, to use your terminology and phrasing, my ego is oversized, then it is only because my ability is equally outsized compared to yours and that of your fellow humans." They were led into the castle, the halls lined with tapestries and suits of armor. Two more guards in front of a set of double doors later, and they were in the throne room.

The King wore a simple gold crown, unadorned by jewels or elaborate embellishments. It was not the crown of a vain, useless king, but the crown of a king who, despite whatever flaws he might have, took his job seriously. His clothing was much the same. No doubt he had more elaborate clothing for official functions and the like, but at the moment, he was wearing simple, if well made clothing, a short black coat topping the look off.

"Father." Arthur said as he walked in. Merlin stepped more distinctly to the side, looking marginally more subservient.

The King, Uther, looked up from the scroll he was looking over. He managed to maintain a fairly unfazed expression when he saw Illyria and her abnormal hair color. All Wesley saw him do, anyway, was raise a single eyebrow. "Visitors?"

"Indeed." Arthur nodded. "This is the Lady Illyria," He gestured, "And her guide, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"Lady?" Uther raised an eyebrow. "You claim to be a noblewoman? Forgive me if I'm skeptical, given your appearance and attire."

"I do not need to simply _claim_ what is a fact, Uther King." Illyria said pointedly, crossing her arms. "My nobility and title stretch back farther than your imagination can comprehend." Her tone was icy without _too_ much condescension, but just enough to raise the King's ire. Just a little, anyway.

"You dare speak to me like that? In my throne room no less?" Uther's voice was not raised, but more...surprised.

Wesley took this opportunity to bow and clear his throat. "Your majesty..." His voice trailed off as he got a good second look at the King. _Dear god, he looks...it is indeed a good thing Rupert Giles isn't here._ Shaking his head just a little, he rose and spoke. "Please, forgive milady's manners. She is...unused to the customs of this land. And she...extremely self-confident-"

"Something I can quite easily tell."

Wesley forced himself to chuckle nervously. "Well, yes. But I do hope you do not hold her lack of tact against her."

"We shall see. Tell me. From where do you come? Why are you here?"

"We hail from a domain called Los Angeles, far to the south. And as to why we are here, I am afraid that I lied to your son, just a little." Before Arthur could cut in, or Uther could say anything, Wesley continued. With any luck, he could play on Uther's hatred for magic and parlay that into the ability to stay here, in Camelot, for some time.

Whatever else he was, and whatever else happened to him, Wesley was and always had been a man who was insatiable in his pursuit of knowledge and information. And here was a golden opportunity to learn something that even the Watchers Council knew little about. The events of Uther's reign and, with any luck, the early years of Arthur's. While he would never be able to give these records to the Council in his own timeline, he could make the records now, for the future, whatever it happened to be. Though history would be changing, as it were, by Illyria's presence. She would be no passive observer of all events, that much was true. Still, even then, he could be at the edge of great events, eyewitness to the new history she would shape.

"It is true that we did have a larger party, and possessed real supplies, and that our supplies were lost and the rest of Lady Illyria's retainers slaughtered when we were set upon by bandits. However, I told your son that the reason we were so far from Los Angeles was because my Lady desired to visit distant lands, and nothing more. In fact, the truth is far darker. We have come this far from our homeland in flight from a terrible foe."

Uther sat up in his throne a little more, shifting just a bit. "What sort of terrible foe?"

"Los Angeles has long been threatened by a trio of powerful, evil sorcerers known only as The Wolf,The Ram, and The Hart. However, the Lady Illyria and her ancestors have been able to keep them at bay for that time. Unfortunately, a few months ago, that all changed, when a close ally betrayed the Lady for wealth and power from the Wolf, Ram and Hart. Though she fought as long as she could against them, eventually, it was not enough, and we were overwhelmed, the city left in ruins by the sorcerers. My lady took her surviving, loyal retainers, and we fled. The Wolf, Ram and Hart have sent none after us, content, it seems, with their victory in Los Angeles."

Illyria transferred a glare to Wesley as he told his tale, the suggestion that the Senior Partners could defeat her an assault on her pride. Even more so because, in her current state, it was more than true. "Wesley-" She started

Wesley cut her off. "There is no reason to lie, My lady, and every reason to tell King Uther the truth. We are refugees, fleeing from the evils of sorcery. And we have, it seems, come here fortuitously, Uther King."

"And refuge you shall have. An enemy of sorcery is a friend of Camelot." Uther said after only a moment's consideration.

_Thank God for petty, small minded hatred._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Angel the Series or Merlin (BBC). Ownership resides with the respective owners, which is probably multiple separate groups and persons for each.

The Ruins of My Kingdom To Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 5: Dangerous Power

"Show our guests to rooms," Uther ordered Merlin, then paused a moment. "The East Wing."

"Yes, My lord." Merlin said, and then turned to Wesley and the Lady Illyria. "If you will both follow me..."

"Of course," Wesley nodded. Illyria said nothing, but followed Merlin out of the throne room. Still, the woman unnerved him. Not just for her behavior and appearance, but also because of the power he could feel almost boiling . . . boiling? He paused his thoughts at his choice of metaphor, and nodded. Yes. Boiling. Strangely apt to describe the sensation he felt in regards to the power she was putting off. It was. . . like magic, but not. But it was. But not. And there was so much of it. He had the distinct feeling that whatever it was that had brought them here, they weren't 'enemies' of magic, though it wasn't impossible to believe that they had used magic against others who could also use magic. Fighting those with magic was something he'd had to do, to try and protect Arthur, and even Uther – despite himself, he sometimes wondered why it was that he thought Uther actually deserved protecting.

Though it wasn't very hard to figure out. If Uther died because of magic, then Arthur will have a real, concrete reason to hate it, rather than simply because it was his father's will and he knew no other way. Still...

As they walked through the Castle to the East Wing, the two talked in that same strange language they had spoken between themselves earlier. He couldn't help but wonder what it is that the two of them were saying. Whatever it was, they clearly didn't want him or anyone else passing by to hear and understand what it was they were saying.

_There must be a spell that can let me understand what they are saying._ Merlin couldn't help but be suspicious. Two people arrived at Camelot under false pretenses, and one of them is throwing off enough power to give him a headache. There was no rule that said they were plotting something nefarious, but if they weren't, he'd eat his neckerchief.

Part of him wanted to ask the Great Dragon for advice . . . but he couldn't trust anything that creature had to say, under any circumstances. Whatever these two were up to, whatever form the Lady Illyria's power took, he could handle it on his own.

Finally, they reached the chambers in question. The two rooms were right across the hallway from each other. "The keys so you can lock or unlock your rooms are inside," he said. "If you need something, there's a bell inside each room so you can ring for one of the servants."

"If you're the Prince's servant, why are you the one showing us here?" Wesley asked suddenly.

"Because I was on hand and you don't say no to the King." Someone came around the hall towards them - "Morgana?" There was . . . an almost scared look on the young woman's face, one he hadn't seen . . . hadn't seen since the two Sidhe had been in Camelot, and she'd had the dreams of Sophia trying to drown Arthur. Had she had another prophetic dream? About the new arrivals?

_If they're here to hurt Arthur..._

"Are these our new guests that I heard Arthur mention?" Morgana asked in her usual cool, soft tone.

"Yes," Merlin answered. He gestured to them in turn. "The Lady Illyria, of Los Angeles, and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, her guide."

"And scholar," Wesley supplied. "And I assume from what Merlin said as you approached, your name is Morgana?"

"Lady Morgana, the King's Ward," Merlin supplied.

"My apologies." Wesley bowed slightly. Illyria made no such motion, and he saw Morgana glaring at the God-King. For his part, Wesley assumed it was because Illyria had made no motion of respect for her station as a noblewoman and Ward of the King.

Merlin knew the reality: Morgana had a dream, or vision. She knew something about Illyria, or at least believed she did.

Morgana nodded. "A pleasure. Merlin, may I have a word?" The young warlock nodded, and looked to Wesley and Illyria. "Is there anything else?"

Wesley shook his head. "No." Illyria answered. They went into one of the rooms, closing and locking the door behind them, and spoke in quiet tones, once more in that strange language of theirs.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked Morgana, turning away from the locked door.

"Why would you think something's wrong."

"Morgana, I've known you long enough to know when you think something is wrong. Its all over your face, and you're not making that much of an effort to hide it."

"I'm not that easy to read." Morgana insisted.

"When you're lying to Arthur, no, you're not. But then again, Arthur is too thick to notice when almost anyone is lying to him."

Despite herself, Morgana laughed at that. Then her expression returned to its previous grave and worried state. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Not that much. Arthur was out hunting, and I was with him. We heard voices up ahead in a clearing, and found them there, talking in whatever language that is. Initially, they were acting like only he – Wesley – could speak like us. Part way through the conversation, she stopped using him as a translator." It dawned on him. _She must have used some kind of spell to allow her to speak our language._ Maybe there was a delay between casting it and it going into effect. He continued. "They say that they're from some place called Los Angeles, far to the south. That they were driven from there by a group of three sorcerers, long time threats to Los Angeles, and have been moving north since." He paused a moment. "They were beset by bandits a few days ago, they say, losing their supplies and the rest of Lady Illyria's retainers in the process."

"Anything else?" Morgana asked slowly.

"Why do you-?" Merlin started, hoping to get her to mention the dream she had to have had.

"Just humor me for a minute Merlin. Please."

Merlin nodded. "She's...stiff. Aloof. There's just something strange about her. I mean, apart from the hair. Wesley has a sword that...folds, in his sleeve. He flicks his wrist and it just comes out." He paused a moment, trying to think of something more, but shook his head. "Morgana, what is wrong?"

"I had a dream...before they got here. And this...Lady Illyria was in it. She was using magic, Merlin. Fighting someone else with it...some woman...she had blonde hair...I didn't recognize her. But I didn't recognize the- Illyria. Because I hadn't seen her. But it was her. The blue hair, the face, the...the red armor. But I'd never seen her before." The look of terror in Morgana's eyes scared Merlin with its intensity.

"That boy. His power is dangerous to me." Illyria paused. "Correction. Could be dangerous to me. To this shell."

"He is Merlin, one of the most powerful wizards in history." Wesley pointed out. "It seems hardly surprising that he might be a threat to you, in your diminished state."

"You are gloating. Stop it. It is unfitting for my Qwa'ha Xahn to gloat at my misfortune and weakness."

"In your current state, you could be killed purely by swords, or arrows." Wesley continued. As he spoke, he walked further into the room, approaching the open window – and wrinkling his nose once he got too close. Quickly, he closed the window and turned back to face Illyria.

"It is possible yes, but were one actively seeking ways to kill me, the damage I could be dealt by swords wouldn't kill me faster than I could kill whomever it was that as attacking me. But that young wizard. Merlin. Were he to exercise enough of his power, he could kill me. Damage this shell too much that I would not be able to heal myself before it died – and with its death, my essence would be without protection in a world now hostile to it. My final death would be within seconds, if I could not find a new host." Illyria walked over to the window and opened it up.

"I like the view from this window. These shall be my chambers." She declared after a moment.

"You don't need to sleep." Wesley pointed out.

"True. But as you say, I must maintain a charade of humanity. Thus, I must appear to sleep, or at least allow others to think I do. I shall likely use the time to practice."

"Practice what? You hardly need to develop muscle memory for anything. I'm quite confident you don't even have muscles, technically speaking."

"Once, I could work powerful magic. I must determine if I can continue to do so in this shell, especially in my diminished state. Given the state of things, I must develop my use of magic through this form. It will be different to use hands and fingers."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Angel the Series or Merlin (BBC)

Thanks to deitclast, my beta-reader

The chapter is a bit disjointed, I'll agree, because in part I wasn't sure what to do with it. I did try to get some major plot points moved on, and I will be trying to do better at integrating episodes and the Illyria/Wesley angle, but they'll be more tangential for most of them.

The Ruins of My Kingdom To Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 6: Cornelius Sigan

In the month since the arrival of Wesley and the Lady Illyria in Camelot, Morgana's dream hadn't led to anything. The Lady Illyria generally remained in her chambers, while Wesley had taken to helping Geoffrey in the library, introducing him to some sort of new system of organizing the Royal Library. The Dewvi Desimol System, he called it? Merlin couldn't remember. Wesley promised it would make things much easier to find, but in the meantime, the place was a mess, much to Gaius' annoyance.

He had told Gaius about the power he'd felt coming off of Illyria, and Morgana's vision. Both things troubled Gaius, but he wasn't sure what to make of them. They didn't have enough information, and with the kind of power that Illyria was displaying, neither of them wanted to provoke her if she genuinely meant no harm – and the month she'd been here had shown no signs that she was plotting anything, or trying to influence Uther or anything even close.

When he reached Gaius', he found the physician unfolding some kind of parchment onto a cleared off table. "Ah, Merlin, there you are. Shut the door." He said. Merlin shut the door behind him, and reached for the parchment. Gaius slapped his hand away. "This map is at least two hundred years old. It must be handled carefully." He finished unfolding it, and it was indeed a map. "I knew the name Illyria sounded familiar, but I couldn't remember from where, so I put it aside. Yesterday, I was helping Geoffrey and Wesley when I found this map inside one of the books."

"Several hundred years ago, for quite a long time, the whole country was ruled by an Empire from points south known as Rome. This map was made from older maps of that Roman Empire. This spt here drew my eye, and you can see why." He pointed, and Merlin followed Gaius' finger with his eyes, reading the word.

"Illyria?" Merlin couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Who would name someone after a region in the world. The idea of naming someone 'Albion' for example...seemed absolutely absurd. "So you think she's named after this part of the world? Maybe from there?"

"Its possible. I'm not sure what it means, to be perfectly honest. But it is very odd. And there is a great deal more odd about the pair. Including what I believe to be a rather encyclopedic knowledge of magic and demons from Wesley."

"You think he can use magic? And...Demons? What are those?" The term sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it at all.

"I don't know if he can use magic, but his questions about the purge were insightful, to say the least. He knows the mechanics of it, to say the least." He started to fold the map back up as he kept speaking. "Demons are a kind of magical beast or creature. They're not very common here in Albion, but they are in other lands, they say. Beings of pure malevolence and destruction. They come in many varieties and forms. He was reading a work on the subject from the library – not that it was a very reliable text – and I'm quite confident he knew just how unreliable it was."

"What does it mean, though?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Gaius replied softly.

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Merlin wanted to tear his hair out. This Cedric was driving him insane, and he was still trying to wrap his head around the power that the Lady Illyria had, and what they were up to. But with Cedric trying to take his job, he couldn't spare any time to focus on trying to keep an eye on the recent arrival. Especially since it was obvious Cedric was up to no good.

Apparently, his annoyance at Arthur's thickness, and his frustration with the entire situation showed all over his face as he walked into Gaius' chambers.

"What's wrong now?" The physician looked up from the large book he had been slowly paging through, and the piece of parchment in his hand.

Merlin set his bag on an empty table and sighed. "I saved Arthur's life, someone else got the credit. Just the usual." He saw the book and the parchment and approached. "What are you doing?" He came around the table to look.

"I found this inscription on the scepter." Gaius said, indicating the parchment.

"What language is that?"

"I don't know." Gaius admitted. "Sigan would have known many."

"Sigan?" The name rang no bells whatsoever for Merlin

"Its his tomb." Gaius said, as if stating the obvious.

"Who's he then?"

Gaius set the parchment down and looked at Merlin pointedly. "Merlin, he's the most powerful sorceror to have ever lived. You didn't grow up in Camelot, but for those of us that did, Cornelius Sagan was a figure of nightmare."

"Why?"

"Sigan's powers. He could change day into night, turn the tides, and legend has it-" Gaius cut himself off as someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" He asked, standing up.

The now familiar, clipped tone of Wesley's voice came through. "Gaius. I was wondering if I might have a word with you."

"Come in." Gaius replied. Wesley opened the door and saw Merlin, but it didn't faze him. "I wanted to talk to you about the tomb that the King's men found underneath the castle-" He looked at the table and saw the writing on the parchment. "What's this." Before Gaius could stop him, he approached the table and picked up the parchment, examining it carefully. A look of surprise spread across his face. "Where did you find this?" He asked Gaius slowly.

"It was inscribed on a scepter in the tomb. Your tone – you recognize the language, don't you?"

"I do." Wesley replied, then muttered something in his native language. "I can't tell you exactly what it says – I'm not that familiar with it. I can tell you Three important things, however. One, this language is a variation of the Nakazian Demonic Script. Two, this word means 'inhabit to control'. Its usually translated to mean 'possess' however. And this word here is the verb 'to live again'. I honestly couldn't tell you what form the verb takes, or who is supposed to be living again. This is a rather sloppy version of Nakazian, to say the least."

"So I was right. You do know a great deal about demons." Gaius said, his voice somewhat accusatory. "You said you only knew legends and myths."

"Demons, vampires and other forces of darkness, yes." Wesley said. "Its what I've spent most of my life studying and fighting. And of course I lied. The situation warranted it." He said glibly. "What's more important is that you two are keeping just as much hidden. Such as the fact that you, Merlin, are a sorcerer of substantial power, albeit with untapped skill at the moment. And you, Gaius, have been hiding this. Or how about the fact that Morgana shows all the signs of a seer? Shall we sit down and discuss things?"

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Wesley couldn't help but smirk at the expressions on their faces. He hadn't been planning on revealing things like this so soon, but the discovery of the tomb moved the timetable up. While he hadn't had any specific reason to believe something bad was going to come out of the opening of the tomb, he knew full well that something bad was going to happen. Experience with this kind of thing came with a sort of cynical skepticism about strange and new occurrences.

"Oh, come now. Sleeping draughts? She's not suffering from any of the conventional sleep related disorders, and she radiates magical power." He sat down. "Let me put all my cards on the table, as it were." _All the cards on the table. Like hell_. "Illyria and I are indeed from a far away place called Los Angeles, but we didn't get here in any sort of conventional way, and we didn't have retainers that were killed by bandits. Out enemy was indeed a group of three beings – powerful demons with many minions and allies – known as the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. We were engaged in a critical battle, when a spell that I cast went...well, it went horribly, horribly wrong, and Illyria and I ended up here. We had little time to come up with a cover story, I'll admit. Uther's hatred of magic made it easy to come up with something workable, however."

He raised a hand before either of them could speak. "I'm not finished yet. You'll want to know this. Illyria is..." he considered his words carefully. "Not entirely human. To be honest, I'm not sure what she is. But her abilities stretch beyond the human norm. she is stronger...faster...possesses incredible regenerative powers. If you stabbed her right through the middle with a sword – even if you could get through that armor of hers, and no, I'm not actually sure if it comes off or if its just part of her skin – she'd recover within minutes, if not sooner."

Gaius cut in before he could say anything more. "That is quite a fanciful tale. If its true, why are you telling us now?"

"Because I have enough experience to know that the discovery of long hidden tombs under castles is not a good thing. And because a demonic language was found inside that tomb." He sighed. "What I wouldn't give for my books right now. I could translate that completely." he looked at Gaius. "Whose tomb was it?"

"Hold on." Merlin cut in. "How can we know you're not a threat to Camelot?"

"You're not very bright are you, Merlin." Wesley drawled. "Or at least, your common sense is lacking." Gaius disguised – badly – his laughter with a cough. Merlin couldn't help but glare at the physician. "If we were a threat to Camelot or to Prince Arthur or even the King, wouldn't we act by now? We've done nothing nefarious because we have nothing nefarious to do."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"What do I want? I want some time in peace, to cope with a great deal of things, and work out a excess of aggression on demons and vampires, if I can find any. I want to stay here in Camelot for a while. As for Illyria? I couldn't possibly tell you what she wants. She's no doubt plotting how to take over the Kingdom and from there all of Albion, but she does that all the time. You have no reason to worry, as long as we and everyone else in Camelot is alive, that she'll actually try anything."_ Well, at least while I'm alive. I doubt she'd keep herself under control if I died suddenly. Unless she needed to for purely pragmatic reasons._

"That's oddly specific." Gaius noted.

"It is." Wesley replied. "And if either of you even think of turning us in, I'll make sure you burn for the use of magic, Merlin, and that Uther and Arthur die before we get subdued." He smiled. "Nothing personal towards you or them. Just good business." He laughed.

Gaius and Merlin just looked at eachother, expressions somewhere between shock, confusion and 'what the fuck?'

"You try that, and neither of you will make it as far as the stake to burn yourselves." Merlin said, no bravado in his voice.

"I believe that you'll do everything you can to make that happen. And I personally wouldn't want to place a bet on a fight between you and Illyria." He sighed. "Look, I want my stay here in Camelot to be a peaceful one, or at least one not spent worrying about you and what you'll do, and I imagine you'd rather have peace of mind about me as well. We've gotten the threats out of the way, correct?" Merlin nodded. "We both know where we stand. Perhaps you can judge Illyria and I, and if we pose a threat, by our actions?"

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Sigan in the body of the would-be thief Cedric stood at the center of the destruction his magic and his gargoyles had wrought, looking at Merlin, his voice calm beside the devasation, tone soothing, reasonable. "Does it? You're young, Merlin. Look inside yourself. You have yet to discover your true power. I can help you. Think, Merlin. To have the world appreciate your greatness. To have Arthur know you for what you are."

Despite himself, Merlin felt himself...almost pulled in by Sigan's words. Not just from what appeared to be a powerful personal charisma, but also the very fact that the words themselves were tempting. But...Merlin knew it couldn't be. As much as the idea was tempting...

"That can never be. " _Not as long as I want to remain true to myself, and who I am._

"It can, if you join me. Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice, he will kneel at your feet." Sigan countered, still trying to sell his line to Merlin. _Does he mean it...or is he planning to back-stab me the moment it becomes convenient?_ Merlin wondered idly. He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else did before he could.

"I'm afraid that your plans and mine are not compatible." Both sorcerers turned to the right to see Illyria approaching through the rubble. "Either you will give up on them, or you will be cast aside as a carcass. Make up your mind, Cornelius Sigan."

"Who are you, woman, to make such bold threats against me?"

"I am Illyria." She said, taking a step forward. "I am far more than your petty human form and mind can comprehend. I walked this earth when it was still young, when you and your kind were nothing more than the muck at my feet. Your gargoyles have injured my Qwa'ha Xahn, and for that, you will pay in blood and flesh."

"I am Illyria. God-King of the Primordium, and you, Cornelius Sigan, are my enemy. That is not a place you want to be."

Sigan laughed. "Bold words, 'God-King'!" He mocked. "But I have conquered death. I _am_ immortal!"

"Nothing is immortal, Sigan." Illyria somersaulted the distance between them, coming up to drive her fist right through his skull. Cedric's head exploded, gore splattering everywhere.

"You didn't have to kill him! That wasn't Sigan's body!"

"The body of the host would not have survived any method of removing Sigan from it. You may cast your spell now, warlock. I presume you came here to face this one with one in mind." Before Merlin could say anything else, she turned around and jumped, landing on an upper balcony, and entering the castle from there.


End file.
